


Waltz of Four Left Feet

by impalafterhours



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Jealous Dean Winchester, M/M, Mutual Pining, Poetry, Slow Burn, blind!Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 12:48:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5785888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalafterhours/pseuds/impalafterhours
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is tired. Dean is the only rest he needs but the righteous man insists on dancing the waltz of four left feet. And God help him, he just cannot say no.</p><p>Or the one where Cas and Dean play footsies with love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waltz of Four Left Feet

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! This is my first story ever and you know the drill, story's mine but the characters aren't!
> 
> The first chapter's supposed to be a preview of what's happening in Cas' head. It's not the beginning of things nor the end. It just is. 
> 
> So yeah! Enjoy!

This is a warning. All of the things written below can and will:

kill people who fool themselves;

drown people who don't gamble on love;

and haunt those who leave,

more or less.

Do you remember how it all began?

Your arm resting heavily on my shoulder, how painstakingly I force myself to laugh at your joke instead of thinking about how you throw your head back with abandon, your Adam's apple bobbing up with every burst of sound that erupts from the depths of your voice box that goes straight to my spine sending tingles and goosebumps to erupt on my skin under all the fabric. It makes me wonder if I was actually a cactus, but of a distant relative. How I'd remember my mom yelling at me for prickling my finger on one. I'd find it funny if that was true. I lived my whole nineteen years of life knowing I was human, then all of a sudden you put your arm around me and I become a cactus. It's foreign and I can't shake the thought out of my mind. That no matter how uncomfortable and alien it all felt like, there was only one word that could describe. It was home. It feels like home. Because you are my home. A place known to others as "your personal space".

All the stolen glances that I wish really are what I think they were - stolen emeralds and gold, and I was a robber. How I always thought it was okay to look at you, to steal and stare longingly at you. And I was right and you're to blame. You're just as sinful as I am, you helped me commit the perfect crime. I was never caught, because you never looked my way. With that being said.. why do I feel as though I'm a prisoner, all the same? Not that I mind, because you're my keeper. At least that's what I like to think. I just wished you weren't so reckless.

The touching was merely platonic. Or, at least, that's what I told myself. And then something changed. I was caught up in a disease that made me unable to be more that 10 inches away from you, and either you were suffering from the same sickness or you just didn't feel me, because I myself, did not feel very me. I thought about how it could all be connected, how I dwell more on missing your touch than I did with the possibility that I was just missing myself. Where was I?

Do you remember how we slowly started things?

I always woke up to the sound of your voice saying breakfast is ready. How I'd slowly open my eyes and absentmindedly fill my appetite just by basking in all of you. I open my eyes, then my heart, just to see your green eyes boring into my blue ones. It all felt so infinite that I accidentally spilled out how I wanted to explain the color of your eyes to your brother. The way your smile faltered. At that moment, I found the connection of why my heart beats faster when you direct your smiling face at me, because my heart faltered, too. I asked you to leave while I buried myself back into my fortress of blankets and pillows. Afraid that even after all the layers red would still seep up, because, damn it, my heart broke. I also thought it was funny how I also found the connection between our friendship and my heart. I'd laugh but then you were pulling off the covers and then I found myself looking straight into you, I saw the glint in your eyes and I squirmed. If what I saw was right, you'd already know that I've wanted this for so long. You opened your mouth to say something but then Sam was screaming your name for the ketchup bottle. I smiled and jerked my head to the door. You smiled wider and jumped up to help him. I look at my hands and think about how Sam hadn't wanted any of us to help when he lost the fight to a disease none of us could even pronounce, which caused him to lose his eyesight. We still did though, everyday.

As the stars shone brightly down on our little home, I think about all the problems there is to pray about. I know it's selfish and self-centered but the one prayer I hoped He'd answer would be to put you in my dreams. I wanted to see the Dean who said he loved me. I wanted to be with that Dean. When I want to see that Dean, I can't. And when I say that I love you, Dean, and yes, the real you. I can't hear you say that you love me in return. Unless it was in a dream and I was happy and then I was not, because I'd have to wake up, and I'd have to let it go and accept that actions do speak louder than words even though it's a lie because I bite my tongue everyday, and he still doesn't get it.

Do you remember the first time we made a promise? Just the two of us?

That you'll take care of me and I'll take care of you. Our friends always want to know why it seems like I harbor this darkness around me and all I can ever think to say is how this is me taking care of you, taking your problems. Sharing was the main idea, but I wanted all of you. Since your problem was the world, so was mine too. You were my world. Taking care of me made you sparkle. That's how I always saw it. Taking care of you was another hell I could fly away from. That's how you always saw it. It was unfortunate for you that my wings deemed useless. I'm here to stay.

That you'll catch me and I'll catch you. Curiosity killed the cat, but this, this time it didn't. It killed me. I'd always, always catch you when you fall, Dean. Have I ever mentioned how I lost all my strength that matched yours, even going beyond, months ago? When all you wanted to do was drink beer and drown yourself until you forget? I ignored the fact how you'd always forget my name before your problems. The same way I ignored my gym card in favor of seeing your flushed alcohol bliss face while I downed the bitter liquid that reminded me of my alcoholic father. It was all very romantic, I could already imagine my mom telling me how you're looking like my dad, asking me if I forgot how her husband was like. And all I would think to say is how she had stayed with him until the very end. I'd do the same. I liked my mother. So, I'd do the same. I'd catch you, and you'd catch me. As we said this all I could think about is what would happen if you didn't.

That you'll love me and I'll love you. And if what's between Thelma and Louise is what people would call love, then I'm not sure if I want it. I already have it with you. Isn't that what all the fuss is about? You can love any person any way you want, it's just a matter of understanding. I never understood why you didn't understand me the first time, when I held your arm and gripped you tight. Or the second, third or fourth. It saddens me how much I had sacrificed to make you understand. I would bury this sadness by hand. Even if I won't be able to move them the way I used to. I know for a fact that we are meant for each other. That you are mine. It just hasn't happened yet.

Do you remember the first time our skin touched?

It was the Lord's work. And I wasn't afraid. I've always been a religious person if my family was anything to go by. I remember my psychiatrist telling me that I was lost the moment I laid my hands on you. That moment I knew that people could be windows, too. She nailed me shut, while you asked me why I wouldn't open up. You couldn't believe in anything for a long time, then there came me - your window of opportunity. You believed me to be so holy that I could banish the ghosts that haunted you. It baffled you how many poltergeists were able to fit in your small heart. But don't you remember? I had yours because I gave you mine. This is love and trying to call it something else. The situation was my mother telling me that our dog was sent to a farm where he could chase rabbits and farm animals as much as he wanted, with all the space he could ever want, that he couldn't have, because he was with me, if he was with me. I believed, wanting to bury my clothes that bathe in you. They were very warm. And smelled nice, like car oil and apple pie. I don't know though, why she still asks me if I still wear your leather jacket. She already knows the answer to that. I hated it there, it smelled like a home I wasn't allowed to sleep in. So I escaped and ran right back to you as I wondered what the place I came from was called, because when I saw you, I knew I was home. You kept your promise.

Do you remember when you finally told me you loved me?

Even though you whispered it to space. Even if I didn't hear it with my ears. Please know, that my heart heard.

I thought about all the things I sacrificed for you but never actually knowing exactly why. I never knew why making you happy, made me happy. And I don't speak with you about all of these things as much as I think about them.


End file.
